


Of Feasts and Famine

by nekonexus



Category: Saiyuki Gaiden
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-17
Updated: 2011-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekonexus/pseuds/nekonexus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The difficulties of HR management plague even the Dragon King of the Western Ocean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Feasts and Famine

The paperwork that crossed Goujun's desk ebbed and flowed like a stream through the seasons: at times barely a trickle, at others as fast and treacherous as the flood of Spring run-off. But Heaven didn't have seasons; its unchanging perfection stretched infinitely long, a single beautiful moment distorted by its longevity. The Dragon King was thus reduced to imposing seasons on such banalities as requisition forms and mission directives, mapping changes in the superficial Heavenly court to the natural patterns he could not see.

Pen held lightly in one hand, Goujun scanned the itemized requisition list. Food _(kami certainly enjoyed eating, for all that it wasn't strictly necessary)_ , drink _(a not unreasonable amount, this time: good. Tenpou had clearly had the requested conversation with his men)_ , clothing and footwear _(they were going through boots and gloves at an alarming rate, even considering the frequency of deployment: discuss finding a back-up supplier with Tenpou at next meeting)_ , miscellany _(rope, hooks, tarps; books, paper, pen, ink: fine)_ : nothing untoward, nothing that needed his attention. Field Marshal Tenpou (or rather, he suspected by now, General Kenren) had a fine eye for detail; these forms needed little more than rubber-stamping, but to do so would have made Goujun feel even more superfluous than he did at the best of times. He was not _needed_ behind this desk, and yet there was precious little else for him to do.

Sighing faintly, Goujun signed the form and stamped his seal below. Picking up the next sheet, he frowned at it. _Transfer request_. On pink paper, nonetheless; a new and vaguely disturbing development in Heavenly bureaucracy. In fact -- he rifled quickly through the pile and separated out several more -- an inordinate number of transfer requests, from those seeking to _join_ his army. Much more of this would bring cries of mutiny from the other commanders.

It was petty of him to think _serves them right_ , but he could not deny the impulse was there. That was the trouble with small-minded bureaucracy; it bred small-mindedness. And if there was, perhaps, a touch of draconic pride and the tendency toward _collecting_ , well. There were worse things he could allow such natural inclinations to affect than His army.

A quiet knock at the door was followed by the announcement: "Field Marshal Tenpou to see you, Sir."

"Send him in." Turning his attention back to the pink form, Goujun tried again to make some sense of the reasoning given in the request. As the _slap-slap_ of Tenpou's sandals neared his desk and stopped, Goujun held up the form. "Do you know anything about this?" Picking up the others in his other hand, he added, "Or rather, these?" He looked inquiringly at his Marshal.

Tenpou smiled. It was not one of his particularly disarming smiles, nor even one of his blandly insincere smiles, but a smile that held a genuine tinge of -- Goujun scarcely believed it -- _apprehension_.

"Ah-hahah," Tenpou laughed softly, "Yes, Sir, I do. Unfortunately."

Setting the papers down, Goujun motioned him to the stiff wooden chair before his desk. "I do not see what is so unfortunate about it, save that I may have to decline some of these requests if only for the sake of staying within budget."

Silently, Tenpou laid a new sheet of paper on Goujun's desk, and sat.

It offered the novelty of variety, if nothing else: paper-clipped to the form was a hand-scrawled receipt from... a restaurant Below. Ah, yes. Tenpou had mentioned wanting to treat his men to a meal.

Setting his pen down, Goujun pulled the receipt free of the form. The change in the angle helped the characters resolve into words: _all-you-can-eat barbeque_.

"And this is...?"

Tenpou cleared his throat. "The _alleged_ cause of the sudden influx of transfer requests. Sir."

Goujun examined the receipt. It hadn't been a particularly extravagant meal; the cost was quite reasonable, given the number of people involved. He looked at Tenpou. "Barbeque."

"Yes, Sir."

"Marshal?"

Tenpou pushed his glasses up, crossed his legs, and folded his arms across his chest. "Yes?"

"Enlighten me, since - by your attitude - I can only assume I am failing to see the obvious."

"... Meat. Sir."

Goujun stared at him blankly for a moment. "Meat. ... Wait. This--" he held up the receipt again, "--excursion was for all-you-can-eat _meat_?"

"They don't generally bother with all-you-can-eat vegetables Below, Sir."

Resisting the urge to rest his forehead on his palm, Goujun exhaled. "I don't suppose you secured special dispensation?"

"There is no form for that--" a double-sided answer: there had not been a form he could request, nor was there such a form included with the expense report he'd submitted, "--as Konzen Douji was quick to inform me."

So he had at least made the attempt. "It is forbidden," Goujun said, hearing tones of lament in his own voice.

"It is indeed, Sir."

And once word had gotten out - as word would, among the soldiers - every man with a heretic stomach had begun clamoring to join the Western Army.

Far from being a point of pride, the transfer requests were now the tip of a public relations disaster, one that his Field Marshal seemed to have every intention of laying in his lap.

"And you failed to plan for this contingency, Marshal?"

Tenpou did not shift in his seat. His tells were much smaller: a tightening of the skin around his eyes that his glasses failed to hide, the tiniest flattening of his mouth, and of course an accelerated heartbeat, which only a dragon would be able to detect. Goujun was not above using such small advantages.

"With all due respect, Sir, I would term it a strategic miscalculation--"

"That resulted in your failure to control the situation. Don't mince words, Marshal." Goujun set the receipt and form aside, resisting the urge to shred them in the process. "Find out how far word has travelled, and who is genuinely concerned about this incident." _Who is likely to make trouble for us?_ "I expect you will apply the best of your discretionary skills in this matter."

"Yes, Sir." Tenpou rose from his chair.

Goujun looked down at his paperwork and picked up his pen. "I trust you will make full use of the resources at your disposal. Certain inquiries may require a... less than delicate hand." By which he was intimating that General Kenren could be useful and, in the sharp quality of the silence, he read both Tenpou's surprise and his acceptance.

"Sir."

Sandals slapped across the floor. Only when the door closed behind him did Goujun finally sigh.

~~~

"The primary dissatisfaction seems to be with you, Sir, rather than the situation," Tenpou said.

Goujun grunted. It was unsurprising. Heaven's primary dissatisfaction lay so often with him: either he was too much the dragon for their tastes, or not enough. There was precious little middle ground where they were content to let him simply _be_. "They find no fault with you?"

Tenpou adjusted his glasses. "They find fault with me as they always do, Sir. Nothing out of the ordinary has arisen because of this incident." He met Goujun's appraising glance evenly. "Of us all, General Kenren seems to stand to gain the most favour."

Goujun considered this. There was a belief among the upper ranks that General Kenren was malleable. That if he was kept content (and this required only wine, women, and cigarettes), his formidable battle skills could be unleashed on command. As if he were no more than Heaven's hound.

His Field Marshal, on the other hand, was considered temperamental, intractable, and of dubious loyalty. That these were superficial misapprehensions was obvious to Goujun. "They would replace you?" It wasn't really a question.

With a tilt of his head, Tenpou smiled thinly. "You know the answer to that better than even I do, Sir."

"Hn." Rising from his chair, Goujun moved to stand by the window. Folding his hands together behind his back, he watched leaves and grass sway in a gentle breeze. "Your advice?"

"Sir?"

Turning his head slightly, Goujun glanced at Tenpou. "You are the strategist, Marshal."

Tenpou was silent for a long moment. "Permission to speak freely, Sir?"

Goujun waved a hand in agreement.

"Why _do_ you remain here?"

Some emotion more complex than simply _disappointment_ overcame Goujun, and he exhaled heavily. "Would you do otherwise?"

Again a long silence. "No," Tenpou said quietly. "We are all presented with choices, even here in Heaven where all choices can seem false. I do not think we are entirely dissimilar in our choice to remain, and to serve."

Goujun inclined his head. "Even so."

"Then... the best strategy is to continue as one has begun."

"You sound not unlike a bodhisattva," Goujun replied, with a touch of amusement. He turned from the window.

"A choice," Tenpou agreed, diffidently.

At that, Goujun finally smiled. "Then we shall also choose to feast." A banquet would serve as pointed reminder and distraction.

It was, after all, a very draconic thing to do: to celebrate the changing of the seasons with food.

And the seasons were changing.


End file.
